


The Horntail Party

by silver_drip



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Powerful Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25204291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_drip/pseuds/silver_drip
Summary: After being raised abroad by Sirius since he was a toddler, Harry steps back into Britain at the age of 25. It sets off an array of spells and consequences.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 105
Kudos: 221





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter helps set the scene for the changes I made in this universe, but I'm taking a lot of liberties that I'll space out so that they are easily digestible. 
> 
> I've already got 20k words written out and I'm trying to power through to the end since this isn't going to be a particularly long multi-chapter fic. 
> 
> More tags will be added later.

* * *

After nearly 24 years, Harry stepped foot back in Britain.

*

Lucius Malfoy was pleased. The party he was hosting in Malfoy Manor was perfect and thankfully winding down. Narcissa was in her element, keeping those left entertained and engaged. Draco was nearly in the middle of it all, which made sense considering the party was for him. He had won his first case as a barrister. His son already had a good footing in the prestigious law firm, Ma’at, he’d joined and this would show the other barristers that he was prepared to take on a bigger role. Malfoys weren’t meant to be at the bottom of the ladder, after all. 

It was the perfect profession to get him ready to take one of the Malfoy seats in the Wizengamot. Lucius had a total of three. Two brought in by marriage. One from his father’s marriage and another that was given to him and Narcissa as a wedding gift. 

Lucius knew that his political views and Draco’s didn’t line up perfectly, but there was still plenty of time for him to learn. 

His eyes swept over the room. Draco was in a tense discussion with a fellow in the same political party as Lucius, the Way Party. 

Crabbe and Goyle, the elder pair, were loitering about. He knew they only remained to fulfill their duty as Malfoy vassals. Their sons had caused quite a stir with their torrid affair. Once again Lucius regretted making Gregory Goyle Jr wait an extra two years till Draco was eleven to start Hogwarts. He didn’t look forward to pressuring their fathers to separate the pair so that they would marry women and carry on their lines. 

Lucius refused to lose assets because of something so paltry as  _ love.  _ They had a duty to continue their lines, to continue serving. 

His eyes settled on Astoria, Draco’s wife. She was sitting by the fire chatting with her older sister. 

It was her who made the night into something great. 

She and Draco announced they were expecting. 

The Malfoy line would continue and flourish. 

A bolt of pain shot through Lucius’ left arm, causing him to jostle his drink. The red wine sloshed over and onto his robes. 

With wide eyes he looked to Crabbe and Goyle. Crabbe was gripping his forearm while Goyle’s mouth was gaping before a grin twisted his lips. 

Lucius retreated to the drawing room, knowing the pair would soon join him. 

Out of view he spelled his robes clean before taking off his top robe. He heavily sat down on an armchair while unbuttoning the sleeve of his shirt. 

And there it was, the dark mark that had completely faded when Dumbledore defeated what was left of the Dark Lord eight years ago, not that he’d let anyone know he was back until after the fact. Now it was as dark as the day it had been put on his pale skin. 

What little color he had on his face fled away. Lucius had thought—

How foolish he had been. 

The Potter baby had ‘vanquished’ the Dark Lord once and Lucius had thought it was the end of it, yet he’d come back. Then he reappeared again and Dumbledore had defeated him— Yes, Lucius had truly been foolish. He should have never believed the doddering old headmaster, but Lucius was loathed to admit that he gave a damn good speech. After the defeat he’d gone to the Wizengmont to announce his victory.

Voldemort had resurrected once after his destruction at the hands of the Potter brat. Lucius shouldn’t be surprised he’d done it again. 

Yet worse, the  _ worst, _ was that Lucius had done nothing to aid him during his first reappearance, when the dark mark had become bolder, yet still paled in comparison to how it originally was. 

Now that the Dark Lord was at full power, Lucius did not doubt it promised him a painful death. 

*

Peter Pettigrew let out a squeak in the muggle cage he lived in. Thus far it had not been a bad life for a man on the run. On the night he’d betrayed the Potters, he’d expected Sirius to go after him. He’d expected to frame him and have one less enemy to worry about, yet Sirius had fled with little Harry instead, letting the news of who really betrayed James and Lily come out. 

And when his dark mark had faded, when the glory and protection he’d been promised did not come, Peter knew he truly needed to hide. His animagus form had been revealed, giving him no shelter in the wizarding world. Instead he found a home with a muggle that loved his pet rat that looked similar enough to Peter. One that had a large enclosure, good food, and placed in front of the television. 

It wasn’t the life he’d wanted, but it was worlds better than Azkaban. 

There was a new promise on the horizon though. He felt the dark mark flare to life, like it hadn’t done in over two decades. His master was back, his glorious Dark Lord, the wizard that would ascend to greatness and pull Peter up with him.

Yet, Peter waited. When his muggle was asleep in his lay-z-boy recliner, Peter opened the cage and scurried out. He went to a separate room and transformed back. He left his owner, doing nothing to the muggle. It was always wise to have a back-up plan, after all. 

*

Barty Crouch Jr stared at his dark mark. His head was slightly cocked to the side. He traced the twisted serpent before his fingers rested on the skull. 

Finally… Finally! 

Oh, how he looked forward to bowing to his lord once more. To bask in his heavy magical presence. 

But he had so much to do before then. 

He was glad he hadn’t murdered his bloody father. Much like the Longbottoms, he’d tortured his father into insanity. He was warded and stored in the basement, Winky looking after him. 

A plan easily formed in his Ravenclaw mind, as cunning as any Slytherin’s. 

Barty’s ‘body’ was buried on the Azkaban grounds. It wouldn’t take much for an upstanding citizen like his ‘father’ to demand its return to the family plot. He would, of course, insist on being there for the exhumation. That was the easy part. It was getting his fellow death eaters free and off the island that would cause problems. He knew the way though. He hadn’t spent his years of freedom idly. 

*

Severus shot up in his bed, dark hair sticking to his sweaty neck and face. He clawed at his shirt, hoping what he’d felt was just a figment of a nightmare— 

Yet there it was, the cursed mark he’d taken when he’d been young, stupid, and so terribly alone.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Albus,” he whispered. Was it fate that the elderly wizard had passed away last year? Or had Voldemort been biding his time? It just couldn’t be a coincidence. And who did Severus have now to go to? 

To complicate the matter, Albus had told the Ministry that Severus had been a spy for him, cleared his name and ensured he wouldn’t be taken to Azkaban. 

Who could Severus even go to? The Ministry was filled with ineptitude, he had no friends, and going to the papers would only stir panic. 

It didn’t help that Severus had been unraveling since he left Hogwarts seven years ago. He spent countless days languishing in Spinners End. His passion for potions happened in spurts with far too long pauses in between. 

It wasn’t really surprising. His only goal in life had been trying to escape his father. Being a Death Eater had given him structure and something to work towards. Employment at Hogwarts and being a spy had done the same. Now… now he had nothing. He  _ is _ nothing. 

But Severus couldn’t let this go without warning someone. And maybe this would be the thing that brought him back to life. Maybe now he wouldn’t stare listlessly at the same tobacco stained walls day in and day out. 

Minerva! She would listen to him. 

Severus dressed hastily and floo called her at Hogwarts.

*

Deep in the towering height of Azkaban, Death Eaters howled with glee, cackled and promised revenge.

And Bellatrix Lestrange was the loudest of them all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan to update every 2-3 weeks since I'm also writing another Harry Potter fic (a nice WBWL, twin Potter story) called Bezoar.
> 
> Once I finish this one I'll post every Saturday.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the lil chapter I promised you. It didn't fit the tone of the last chapter or the next so I kinda just plopped it here.

* * *

“Brilliant,” Ron said in the dawn light of their flat. The post had just come in, two papers in fact. One for Hermione to read and another for Ron to skim. 

Hermione sipped her morning tea. She’d skipped past the article her husband was doubtlessly reading. 

“Do you think I’ll be able to get his autograph! What if he becomes an Auror too! Can you imagine me and Harry being partners?” Ron blathered on. Hermione hid her smile at his fanboy antics. 

“He’s just another wizard. I doubt he even remembers his ‘greatest’ accomplishment.” She rolled her eyes, more to annoy him than anything else. 

As expected, Ron puffed up. “Sod all that. He’s done so much since then! He’s a bloody bounty hunter! He chased down that Grapeton dark wizard to the _arctic._ He revealed Lockhart’s ruse! He can talk to dragons! Now he’s coming home!”

She let out a little sigh, once more for effect than actual exasperation, while turning back to the front page of the Prophet. 

_Britain’s Favorite Son Returns!_

Hermione had to admit that Harry Potter did cut a fine figure on the cover. His Indian descent was clear and refined, accented by his glasses. His hair was a mess despite being pulled back. He loosely held his wand by his side and Hermione couldn’t help notice how wide and muscled his shoulders looked to be. What topped it off, though, was his smile. Dashing, in a word. 

She skimmed the article. It was mostly focused on his accomplishments, which were admittedly impressive, but it was the reason he was back in Britain that made her smile. 

He was the US representative for the International Dueling Tournament. And Hermione just so happened to snag tickets to it for. It was the perfect anniversary gift for Ron, and now was the perfect time to tell him. 

But then an owl was pecking at their window, carrying two papers. Hermione frowned and opened the window with a silent spell. Her frown only deepened as the owl dropped off two new Prophet papers, an _emergency_ edition. 

With analytical eyes she read over it. Her eyebrows arched. The Way Party had lost their majority. The party she was in, the Dawns, should have overtaken the lead, but instead it looked like most of the Way seats had turned Independent, putting them just a few points over the Dawns. 

Without the Way in power anymore, a new Chief Warlock or Sorceress would have to be chosen soon. It was the position of having the say of which motions made it to the voting floor of the Wizengamot and could easily abuse the position. 

Hermione stood abruptly. She had to figure out what happened last night then start building a coalition in order to get a Chief Warlock or Sorceress that would be in the Dawns’ favor. She had a lot to do and only gave Ron a cursory goodbye before heading for the Ministry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know not a lot happened in this chapter. It kinda makes me feel awkward.
> 
> I'm focusing on finishing the story. Once I have it all written out I'll probably come back and beef this chapter up.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this fic, Harry is going to sleep with a few people, but it's always in the background and not really a plot-point. Honestly, I just like using a wide range of characters~

* * *

Harry twirled the key ring on his pointer finger while looking at Grimmauld Place. Sirius had wanted to sell the old house, but had refused to come back to Britain to sign off the paperwork. Bad memories, and the like. 

Harry couldn’t fault him for that. He was just upset that he’d never get the chance to explore it with Sirius. His uncle, the man that  _ raised _ him, had died too soon. The wizarding world hadn’t been helpfully on why he was degenerating so fast, but when they took him to see muggle doctors they found the root of the problem: inbreeding. His chest had a deformity that came back even after all the bones were taken out and regrown. It pressed on his heart which had to work harder to pump blood. 

The best potions in the world had only given him a couple more years, years Harry treasured. 

Harry was set on selling Grimmauld Place. He just needed to ferret out any books of interest and artifacts worth keeping. 

It was thanks to Sirius’ warning that Harry didn’t wake the less than pleasant portrait of the late Lady Black. 

With a few flicks of his wand he paralyzed the portrait of the sleeping woman, unstuck the painting, and incinerated it. The charm to keep it in place had been complex, but Harry had a rare advantage. His well of magic far exceeded anyone else he’d ever met before.

Sirius said it was even greater than Dumbledore's, not that Harry had ever met the wizard. The only contact they’d had was when Dumbledore wrote to him on how to destroy the Horcrux in his scar. 

Britain was… It wasn’t home, but it wasn’t foreign either. He’d been able to dig up a good amount of memories of his parents with the help of guided mind healing. They had a bitter-sweet taste, but at the end of the day, Harry considered Sirius as his father. 

He was glad he hadn’t been raised in Britain, if what his dueling coach said was true. The Brits were apparently excited, almost foaming at the mouth, for him to return. Grimmauld Place was well warded though.

Thankfully the place wasn’t a mess. He’d hired a cleaning crew to do a once over inside and out. The place was in a particularly bad state. They also found a dead house elf, one that had tried to mount its head on a plaque. 

Upstairs, in the room that used to be Sirius’, Harry unshrunk his luggage and pulled his hair out of the loose bun it was in. He was debating whether to sleep or not. The time change was doing nothing good for him. At least he was used to international portkeys. 

A tapping on his window pulled him out of his internal debate. 

Owls, and with a bloody lot of envelopes and parcels. 

Merlin, he hoped it wasn’t more fan mail. 

He opened the window and gestured to the cluttered desk in the corner of the room. The owls deposited their burden. Harry scolded himself for not bringing along owl treats with him, as he usually did when traveling. Goodness knows that his continent hopping had led more than one owl to exhaustion. 

He wordlessly summoned some food from the icebox, not even knowing where the kitchen was. He only knew that the crew he hired had filled it. 

Harry broke open a mincemeat pie and let the owls have a go at it. 

He pulled out a Pepper-Up potion. He’d decided that his best course of action was to take a relaxing bath (which he hopefully wouldn’t fall asleep in). He’d deal with whatever nonsense the owls were bringing him later.

Harry turned towards the bathroom, not noticing that the majority of the letters had the old Ministry of Magic seal on them.

*

Hermione was feeling a bit lightheaded as she rushed to the Auror’s Division. Her entourage of two assistants followed in her wake, scrolls and genealogy books in hand. 

“There might have been a breakout at Azkaban,” Hermione announced while stepping into the Head Auror’s office without his leave. Head Auror Scrimgeour gave her a disapproving look that immediately made her chastise herself internally. Manners mattered, but this was more important. 

“What gave you that idea, Mrs. Weasley.” At least he didn’t outright dismiss her. That had happened a fair amount when she first started working at the Ministry as a muggle born. As loathed as she was to admit it, having the pureblood, ancient name of Weasley as her own had helped immensely. 

Hermione was quick to lay out her proof. “Wizengamot seats that were held by incarcerated wizards that aligned themselves with You-Know-Who have been reactivated.”

He looked over the parchments over. 

Hermione couldn’t hold her tongue. “Not only that, but seats with recent dead family lines have reactivated too. I can’t see a connection between them. None of them are from before the war. Some of the seats are from those that died in the Wizarding War, but others in peace time. It doesn’t make sense.” It felt like a coup, but Hermione didn’t feel comfortable using that word just yet. It was even more confusing since the Longbottom seat had changed from the Dawns to Independent. 

The only good news was none of the elected seats had changed. 

“Auror Hale,” Scrimgeour called out. 

Hermione glanced beyond her aides and spotted a familiar face, Katie Bell. The Gryffindor chaser had been a year ahead of her. Hermione hadn’t realized she had married, let alone was expecting. It made sense she didn’t know. The pair hadn’t been close, not even when Ron had joined the Quidditch team. 

She gave Hermione a nod of acknowledgement before focusing on Scrimgeour. “Sir?”

“Have you finished your report on the issue Augusta Longbottom had this morning?” His eyes were still on the papers Hermione had given him. 

“Almost done, sir. I just have to dot my I’s and cross my T’s.”

“Bring it in. You can work on the details later, and get Belckner in here.” Scrimgeour’s lips were slightly pursed. “My department will be in contact with yours, Mrs. Weasley.” 

It was a clear dismissal. Hermione hated being dismissed, but was sadly used to it. She left to find her own answers. First things first, she’d write Neville.

*

Harry had done a noble job of ignoring all the letters on the desk and was now in muggle London, honestly just wanting a good plate of curry. That, and avoid any fanfare. 

So sitting by a window in the restaurant wasn’t the best of ideas.

Harry spotted him first, a wizard around his age. He was wearing muggle clothes, but the wand holster on his right forearm gave him away. Harry should have ducked down, but was mid-sip of his mango lassi and was loath to risk spilling it. 

Oh Merlin, the blond was clearly a fan by the way his brown eyes lit up. 

There went his peaceful lunch. He hadn’t even been on the island for a full five hours. 

The bell above the door jingled as the fan rushed in, nearly knocking over an elderly woman with take-out. 

“M-Mr. Potter!” the wizard stuttered out. His hands sporadically gripped the chair across from where Harry was sitting. “It’s an honor—When I went to Hogwarts I chose Gryffindor since your parents were Gryffindors! I was so sad when I found out you weren’t going to Hogwarts. I’ve been following your whole career! Viktor Krum won’t stand a chance against you in the finals!”

“I’m not in the finals yet, mate.” Krum was a longshot anyway. A Quidditch pro like him shouldn’t be risking himself for a contest that didn’t even pay a tenth of what a Quidditch game got him. More often than not the medics and cursebreakers on the sidelines were necessary. Harry had a fair few scars to show for it. 

Dueling made his heart race more than anything else,  _ most _ anything else. 

“Colin Creevey!” the wizard nearly shouted out his introduction. “I’m Colin! I’ve been rooting for you since I heard you entered the league two years ago! I know you’re going to win!” 

Harry leaned back in his seat. From the corner of his eye he could see more than one customer was not happy with Creevey’s not so inside-voice. Harry needed to get him to leave or stop his shouting, and Creevey didn’t look like the fleeing type. 

“Sit down, Creevey,” Harry ordered. He happily did so. “Why don’t you tell me about my tournament, quietly.” 

That got him going, and it was easy enough for it to become a dull buzz. It did put a damper on his naan. All that hot air Creevey was putting out could make any bread limp. 

Harry wasn’t in the mood for limp though. He had a full stomach and needed a reason to stay awake. It was fucking 5am at home and he was trying to fight against the timechange. 

“Colin, do you want to know how I get acquainted with a new place? How I settle in?” Harry asked while leaning forward slightly. Colin mirrored him. 

“How, Harry? How can I help?” 

Harry took his time. He swiped off the condensation of his near empty glass before bringing it to his lip. Colin followed his every motion with his eyes. He ran his thumb over his bottom lip, tongue flicking out for just a second. 

Colin was entranced. Harry knew he had him hooked. Star-power be damned. 

“I find someone, usually a bloke, then I bend them over and fuck their brains out,” Harry said under his breath. Red bloomed on Colin’s cheeks. “I take them apart. I taste every inch and control their every breath until all they can think about is the pleasure-pain I can give them.” Colin’s eyes dilated. “Now Colin, do you want to be that bloke or are we going to talk more about people who are going to lose to me?” 

“My flat is two blocks away, or we could go to your hotel?” 

“Your place.” Harry stood while taking out Muggle money. “And Colin,” he got the hazy attention of the other man, “this is only for a few hours. Don’t get attached.” 

*

Percy Weasley absolutely despised working with Lee Jordan. The man was good enough at his job in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, but his fellow Gryffindor had spent a lot of time with the Weasley twins and it showed. 

Worse yet, he abhorred how much he always seemed to be smiling, to be so damn  _ happy. _

Why oh why had Percy been chosen as the liaison between the DMGS and his Department of International Magical Cooperation? 

Percy’s department shouldn’t have to focus on  _ games. _ There were far more important things they could be doing, such as the trade alliance that had been heating up before he’d been reassigned. 

Percy, on his part, cleared his throat, ignoring how sharp Lee’s trimmed beard made him look. 

And perhaps this was a bit of Percy’s own fault. He really shouldn’t have corrected his superiors that one (of many) times, but he hated inconsistencies and maladapted texts. 

None of that mattered in the end though. Percy would climb the ladder and eventually be the Chief Warlock—

His stomach turned a bit at that thought. His party, the Way, had just lost their majority, and no one really knew what was behind it. He needed to talk to some of the relations he’d cultivated in the party. 

It truly was a pain. Even those liberal ninnies, the Jacks, had more seats than his party!

He had so many things to worry about, yet was stuck dealing with the International Dueling Tournament, and Jordan who was funny, goodlooking,  _ and _ smart! 

Percy was in quite a pickle.

*

“Brilliant,” Agilbert Fontaine said while clapping politely.

Filius Flitwick gave a slight bow while gesturing to his frog choir, though unlike his one in Hogwarts, this choir was really made of frogs—Well, toads. 

It was one of Filius’ favorite hobbies over the summer. He just wished he had more time for it during the school year, but his Ravens were far more important. As it was, he could only usually entice Minerva to listen to them at the start of the first-semester before he had to lay them to the wayside.

Filius spelled the toads back to their terrariums. 

Filius knew Agibelt, the headmaster of Ilvermorny, from their time on the dueling circuits. He was also one of the few people who hadn’t automatically dismissed Filius because of his goblin heritage. It meant even more to Filius because Agibelt was a pureblood. Thankfully, unlike the island Filius lived on, the Americas were far bigger. The half Native American half Hawaiian man was as healthy as a horse despite his old age. Filius wished he’d held up as well as him so they could have an invigorating duel just like the old days. 

Agibelt was also Harry Potter’s dueling coach. 

“What are his chances?” Filius asked as he served tea. The Americans weren’t as keen for tea as the Brits, something Filius was happily trying to change. 

“Very good. Have you been following the wireless?” Agibelt gave the tea Filius handed him a sniff. If he didn’t know the other man so well it would be insulting. As it was, he knew the Americans used different herbs in their potions that possibly could be reactive to his specialty blend of tea. 

“When I had the chance. The time difference is its own obstacle. How did you find the time to train Mr. Potter?” Filius was busy enough as the head of Ravenclaw and deputy headmaster. 

“His guardian, Mr. Black, was instrumental. As you know the US doesn’t have the same restrictions on ‘dark’ magic that you all do. He took a liking to them and passed them on to Harry.” 

Filius sat back in his chair in thought. Sirius Black had never been scholasticly motivated at Hogwarts, but fatherhood could change a man. 

“Yes, us Western European duelers do have a distinct disadvantage in that, if we don’t have a proper coach.” Filius had been one of the lucky ones, on the other hand his history of dark spells almost disqualified him from getting hired at Hogwarts. 

Agibelt grinned. “It’s been so long since the tournament was hosted here. You Brits get up in arms about the ‘dark’ spells. I can’t wait to see it.” 

*

Lucius wasn’t certain what it meant. All the Malfoy Wizenmont seats, even the one Draco held, had turned independent. He’d gone to the Ministry, but they’d been of no help. The only positive, although it was quite negative in a different sense, was that his seats weren’t the only one to change. Most of them came from the Way. The one common factor was that all of the Dark Lord followers who had seats were changed to independent, even the seats that had been dormant due to incarceration. 

He doubted the Ministry could cover up an Azkaban breakout, especially with him prodding about and his ears throughout the Ministry. 

Doubtlessly, the Dark Lord was behind it. 

It was only the early evening, around 12 hours since the mark reappeared, but he had yet to be summoned. 

Lucius was of two minds. He desperately wanted to run, to save himself from the torture that was sure to come, but he knew it would do him no good. For now the Dark Lord might focus his attention on all the ones who did not come to his aid. If he ran, he would only raise the Dark Lord’s fury and make his family a target. On the other hand, the pain could rain down on all the death eaters and hopefully not splash over to his family. There was safety in numbers, if such a thing could ever be true with the Dark Lord at full power.

Maybe he should send away Astoria and his unborn grandchild. The Greengrasses had been neutral in the war. Some time to take in the fresh air in the villa he had in Greece could do her some good, but Lucius knew Draco was not in a position at his job to be taking off time to go with her. Hmm, perhaps he could persuade her older sister, Daphne, to take her there. She would heed his warning without him being forced to show his dark mark. Astoria was wonderful, but Daphne had a cunning she lacked. 

A wave of magic,  _ old _ magic, swept over his hand. When Lucius looked down, his Malfoy lord ring was missing. 

He went to his chaise lounge and promptly fainted on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the naan part doesn't quite make sense, but it was too integrated for me to change it :p


	4. Chapter 4

“Bloody hell,” Harry whispered under his breath while stacking the last letter. He had a pile of lordship and heir rings he had no idea what to do with. 

‘Right of Conqueste’ was at the top of nearly every letter he’d opened. Like the title, it was all in old english. 

_ Through the Right of Conqueste this house is thy sub'rdinate and yours to hest as thee seeth fitten. Their f'rtunes and prop'rty art at thy disposal.  _

The rest was far more convoluted, but what he understood was he was now Lord of a number of houses, despite not sharing blood with most of them. And how they could only be acquired during wartime. 

Not to mention all the property willed to him by people he never even met. 

And he apparently was a bloody duke now. 

Harry glanced skyward and only saw an old cracked ceiling. 

All the stress he had relieved with that Colin chap had come back five-fold. He already missed the US where there were no royal titles and people only knew him for his accomplishments as an adult. 

How was Harry supposed to see this coming? Logically, he knew that he was Lord of the Potter family of one and that he’d inherited the Black lordship from Sirius, but he never planned on doing anything with them. He knew very little of the British gentry. 

Then there was another letter, one that had been written over a decade ago and addressed to him only if he was to set foot on British soil. It was the damn thing that set off part of this mess. 

The letter was unsigned, though there were plenty of signatures on the ornate scroll it came with. 

The letter explained what a slave mark was and how Voldemort had tricked his followers into taking them. So Harry was not only a duke, but also a slave owner now. 

“Bloody hell,” he repeated and ran his hand through his hair. 

Another very, very long scroll had come from the British Gringotts bank requesting his presences to go over his newly acquired… well, too much to name. 

There was another letter from the Ministry of Magic, this one written in proper, modern english noting that he needed to register a party for all the Wizengamot seats he now had so they could get on with the process of naming a new Chief Warlock or Sorceress—Because apparently Harry’s very presence could cause chaos in a government that had been established in the 18th century. 

No doubt Sirius was laughing at him from beyond the veil. 

He decided to get started on the mess that had been dumped on his shoulders before the tournament began in two days.

He penned a letter to Gringotts asking for his account manager from their US branch to be brought over to help him deal with this nonsense. Thankfully the Gringotts owl, that looked far more regal than any owl he’d seen before, was patiently waiting for his reply despite having arrived in the morning. Harry also set up an appointment with them for after lunch tomorrow. 

He dashed out another letter to his coach, Agilbert Fontaine, just making him aware of the situation—Not that Harry really knew what to make of all this. 

He opened his wallet to one of its spare compartments before pushing in all the rings and papers. 

When he’d used the international portkey from Brazil it had luckily landed him in Diagon Alley. After pulling his hair back in a loose bun and donning a hooded cloak, he apparated there. 

It was nearly the evening and there were thankfully not a lot of people about. He headed towards an owl shop, knowing it would take too much time to repeatedly go to the post office. He wasn’t one for pets, but when a beautiful snow owl landed on his outstretched arm he changed his mind. He named her Hedwig and sent her off to find his coach. 

After watching her go he caught the attention of a posh looking wizard. 

“Excuse me, sir. Might I bother you with a question?” Harry had definitely not got his manners from Sirius. 

The fellow’s eyes went wide as he stared at Harry’s forehead. Right, maybe Harry should cut his hair and get bangs. If this was the reaction Harry got every time he met a brit, he might have to leave right after the tournament, if only he wasn’t a  _ slave _ owner. Who knew how that was going to play out? 

Harry stowed his annoyance and continued. “I’m looking for a solicitor. What’s Britain's best law firm?”

The Brit got a hold of himself. “That would be Ma’at . Right next to Gringotts with sphinx statues flanking the entryway. You can’t miss it.” 

“Brill.” Harry gave him a quick handshake and left before he could get caught in a conversation.

His wallet felt inordinately heavy despite the featherlight charm on it. 

With just his name he got to see one of the senior partners, Rebecca Seif. 

“Mr. Potter, it’s a pleasure,” she said with a firm handshake. The middle aged Egyptian woman had green eyes that matched his own. He wondered if they were related distantly, but wouldn’t ask unless they got close. “My assistant tells me there's something you’d like to discuss. He told you my hourly rate, correct?”

Harry nodded. “I’ve already signed the contract.” He pulled out his wallet. “Have you ever heard of the Right of Conqueste?”

Rebecca’s eyes lit up. “Now I haven’t heard that term since law school,” she reached for a quill and sharpened it with a twist of wandless magic, “and even that was during a mock-trial.” After dipping her quill it stood on its own on a fresh piece of parchment. 

“Right, well apparently it was enacted in the last war and I just got a load of lordship rings and Wizengamot seats.” He would keep the list of death eaters to himself for now until he could get proper research done on the slave spell. Vow spells often had a backlash for all those involved. He handed Barrister Seif the letters from the Wizengamot. “I want to know the legality of it all and what it means for me.”

“I’ll need to pull up some old texts,” Barrister Seif said while skimming the letters. “It was still in place 35 years ago.” Her lips pursed. “Unfortunately it appears that we have a few conflicts of interest. Ma’at already represents many of these people, one of which even works here. If it was one or two amicable parties we could get contracts drawn up for negotiations, but the majority of my clients wouldn’t allow it.”

Harry was mildly annoyed, but should have figured the most prestigious law firm represented so many elites. “Ah, so I’ve shown my hand, haven’t I?”

“Indeed, but you are currently protected by attorney-client privilege I can’t disclose this to any of the other clients or my coworkers.” She handed him back the papers. “I can’t represent them either.”

Harry winced. “I’ve lost you some money, I reckon.” 

Barrister Seif smiled with her beautiful painted lips. “I’ve been meaning to take a vacation anyway. No harm, no foul.” 

Harry nudged his glasses up and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Any recommendations on who can represent me?”

“Normally I’d say to get a Ministry barrister, but too many of them are in the pockets of Wizengamot members.” Mrs. Seif pulled a rolodex to her and started going through them. When she found what she was looking for she tapped it with her wand and the copy of a business card appeared. “Jasper Levington is a semi-retired public defender,” Harry wasn’t sure what that meant, but had a feeling she wasn’t setting him up. “He normally does smaller cases, but this is unique and I think it will really tickle his brain.” She grinned with bright eyes, a hint of mischief in them. “And hopefully a big case like this will set him up financially so that I can finally be free of him.” 

She handed him the card.

After a few more pleasantries he said his goodbyes and paid his impressive bill.

*

Severus couldn't help flexing his hands. It was better than gripping his left forearm like he was trying to stop it from bleeding out. 

Minerva had been a comfort, that and the many calming droughts he'd taken during the day, but she had left hours ago. He'd already talked to the Aurors, but they wanted him to remain in their department for the time being, in case the mark summoned him and since he was a target. They'd set him up with a cot in a side room used for checking smaller wounds Aurors didn't feel like going to St. Mungo's for.

He was having none of that sitting around business. He was allowed to roam, so long as he didn't disrupt anyone or tried to read any documents. Severus thought that was in poor form. He could be gathering information or sabotaging investigations easily. Especially a skilled Legilimen like him. The knowledge he could gather with just a bit of eye contact... Well, no one had ever accused the Aurors of being abundantly intelligent. That had been proven when he saw Ronald Weasley being counted among them earlier. His former student had paled before running off.

A familiar figure caught his eye, Lucious Malfoy. And he was not happy. Though his expression wasn't far off from the haughty superiority he usually wore. 

He had by the looks of it a barrister in tow. Probably one that Severus couldn't afford to even meet without spending a good chunk of his savings.

Lucius sneered when their eyes met. Doubtlessly he had been called in because of the dark mark. He probably hadn't reported its reappearance despite his 'Imperio-ed' excuse. That was a load of crock. Lucius had been instrumental in the Dark Lord's planning. If only Severus hadn't been undercover, he would have happily testified against him. As it stood, there was no double jeopardy. 

When Lucius’ hateful gaze turned away from him, Severus found his energy flitted away. He returned to the room that he had been granted. This was the most activity he’d done in ages. He dearly wished to be in his own bed with a dose of Dreamless Sleep to help him make it through the night. 

Severus wasn’t used to spending time around people, even during his job at Hogwarts. Other than the children he was forced to interact with, which he didn’t count, only Dumbledore and a few of the staff spoke to him. 

He knew he was a bitter man. The picture would be complete when he was older and scowling at anyone who dared stepped on his lawn. 

Not even the death eaters deserved his unpleasant company. Some part of him knew he’d waste away at Spinners End, just like his father had. At least Severus wasn’t a drunkard. 

He ran his hand through his hair, not realizing it had cramped up from his unconscious clenching. He tried to massage some looseness into it, but his other hand was just as bad.

Useless. Both his hands and him. And he hated himself a little more than usual since a part of him hoped the Dark Lord was really back so he had something to do, to make his life more than the equivalent of a flobberworm’s. 

He closed his eyes tightly, trying to will away his misery.

*

Ron marveled at the celebrity who’d just stepped through his floo in the early morning. Harry bloody Potter. In the flesh.

He was taller than Ron had expected, and his scar… Merlin, it looked cool. 

“You said Mrs. Weasley is in?” Harry asked. His eyes were scanning the area and for once Ron understood why Hermione always insisted on cleaning the flat before visitors came. His cheeks heated up with embarrassment. Harry probably thought Ron lived in a pigsty. “Mrs. Weasley?” he asked again, shaking Ron out of his daze. 

“Right, I’ll go get her.” Ron hastily, but reluctantly, left to find her. Damn, he should have offered Harry a cuppa before he went to find Hermione. What would his mum say about his bad manners? He almost laughed at himself for thinking she’d scold him for that. With the help of Fred and George he’d worn her down. She accepted their lack of manners now that they no longer lived under her roof. 

“”Mione,” he called out while softly knocking on the doorjamb of their spare room cum office. She didn’t look up from the parchment she was writing on. He smiled to himself. As much as he made fun of her in their early schooling days for being such a bookworm, it warmed his heart now. She put her heart and soul in everything she did, and accomplished her goals brilliantly. She’d be the Minister of Magic someday, he just knew it. “Love, we have a guest. You’ve been working all night. Let me make you tea and some kippers for breakfast.” 

She looked up at him with slightly glazed eyes. She blinked them clear and smiled at him. He fell a little more in love with her then. He was the only one who could pull her out of her research whirlwind. This whole business with Wizengamot had kept her busy since yesterday morning. 

She was a political butterfly and everyone knew it. Hell, his parents were trying to bribe her to have a kid with the promise of a Wizengamot seat. They weren’t sure if they wanted kids though, and as Hermione had wisely pointed out: one should be more than sure when they decided to bring a new life into the world. 

“Who is it?” she asked while standing up. She stretched and Ron’s eyes were drawn to the sliver of skin that showed as her muggle shirt rode up. He still had no idea how he nabbed her after all those years of being a prat. 

“Harry Potter!”

Her brow furrowed. “Why is he here?”

“He said something about a business proposition!” He still couldn’t believe he had Harry Potter in his kitchen! “We shouldn’t leave him waiting!” 

Hermione huffed out a laugh before following him. 

“Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said while turning away from the Weasley clock that was sporting quite a few new hands. Really it should be separated at least three times to make it readable. “My solicitor informs me you are one of the best researchers in Britain.” They shook hands. Ron started on tea and breakfast. “I’m hoping to hire you to look into a spell I recently came upon.”

Ron saw Hermione perk up, but Ron already knew she wouldn’t accept it unless she could put off for a while. The Wizengamot business already had her plate full. He saw her teetering.

“I’m currently undertaking another project, but it should be wrapped up in two weeks at the latest. I’d love to help though,” she said. 

Harry shifted slightly. “I don’t know if I’ll be sticking around that long after the dueling tournament. This is a sensitive matter.” 

Hermione flagged slightly. “I understand. I think I know the perfect person who can help you, actually. She’s not conventional, but she has a different way of seeing things than others that is really brilliant.”

“Luna?” Ron guessed while bringing over the tea. “Isn’t she stuck at home right now?” 

Hermione nodded then turned to Harry. “Luna Scamander is a friend from Hogwarts. She’s pregnant with twins and hasn’t been able to leave their house. She’s been going batty and this will be perfect for you both!”

“This is the third time I’ve been kicked to someone else since yesterday afternoon.” Harry smiled softly. “Where can I find Mrs. Scamander?” 

“I can take you!” Ron volunteered, nearly missing the skillet as he cracked open an egg. He cleared his throat. “I mean, their flat is hard to find and it really won’t be a bother.” 

Harry gave him a bemused look that made Ron blush. “Sure.”

“You can side-along or I can show you the way. It’s just off Diagon Alley.” Ron felt like such a chump and Hermione was doing nothing to hide her laughter. 

“Diagon Alley it is, then. I still have a few hours before my next meeting.” Harry gave a slight shrug. 

“Perf!” Ron stumbled as Hermione hip-checked him so she could get to the scrambled eggs he’d completely forgotten about.

“Have fun, boys, and good luck to you, Mr. Potter, in your tournament.”

Ron and Harry floo-ed to the Leaky Cauldron. They spoke about the only thing they had in common, which was unfortunately their less than stellar acquaintanceships with Gilderoy Lockhart. After Harry had caught him, Lockhart had made a deal with the Americans to serve his term there instead of at Azkaban. 

They separated at Luna’s. She looked intrigued at the prospect of a research project.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things keep unraveling!
> 
> Sorry for the slow update! Too many things to write, and not enough time!

* * *

Fred dearly wished his handsome twin was with him. Harry Potter had just walked into their joke shop. Where Fred was firmly asexual and sex-repulsed, George seemed to get all those messy lust feelings that Fred thought were unnecessary and distracting. 

George would doubtlessly be making a move on the celebrity by now. As it stood, though, Fred had to do the talking. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d pretended to be George to get him a date. What were brothers for, after all?

“A new customer, and a good looking one at that!” he said while heading over. “I am George Weasley, the proprietor of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, and you’ve just walked into the best shop in the alley, my friend!” 

“Is that so?” Harry responded, his eyes roving the merchandise. 

Fred picked up a package. “For the wizard on the go with such lushes locks, I recommend Comb-a-Chameleon. One brush and your hairstyle changes to anything you like! You’ll drive all the ladies and  _ men _ crazy!” Fred judged his expression. He didn’t look put off by the male part of his sentence. He grabbed another product. “There’s also No-Tell-Hair-Gel. Spend a night in my bed—Pardon me, at someone’s place, put a bit of this in your hair and you’ll look as wonderful as before your  _ activities.” _

“Cheeky,” Harry said with a grin. Fred could tell he had his interest. 

“There is also our ever growing adult section.” Fred started guiding him to the separate area, a hand on his lower back. Once they were inside Fred continued. “A toy for every kink! Our famous Bertie Botts Every Flavored Lube! And let's not forget to be safe. Firework-Finishers, make your climax a show! Cheek-Balm, gets rid of the soreness, but not the marks!” That one caught his attention. “A spanking connoisseur, I see!” 

Fred continued to guide him around, with plenty of flirting in between. An hour after Harry Potter came into his store, he had a promise of a date with him. 

He couldn’t wait to show George his memories!

*

Barty Crouch Jr hated taking on the form of his father. More than that he hated that they shared the same patronus, a longhorn bull. It was useful though. He couldn’t know which, if any, of the Aurors accompanying him knew his father’s patronus. 

Thankfully none of them talked to him. He’d practiced his look of mourning in the mirror and it was paying off. 

He had been lucky. The Auror Office was in a tizzy with the knowledge the dark mark was back. They’d only sent two Aurors with him, and a grave digger that was under his employ. One of his fellow Death Eaters, Goyle, in disguise. Bloody idiots. 

They weren’t even watching them when they got to the cemetery, instead focusing on their patronuses. 

He exchanged a glance with Goyle and in tandem they sent green bolts of killing curses. 

It really shouldn’t be this easy.

A  _ morsmordre  _ to the sky and the dementors paused their convergence on them. He wasn’t sure it would work. Getting their allegiance had only been in the planning stages during the war. Malfoy had been cooking up an idea with the Lestrange brothers. Being in Azkaban would be the perfect chance to discuss terms, though a terrible position to bargain from. 

Rabastan and Rodolphus must have pulled it off. 

“We will give you plenty to feast on soon,” Barty promised, his father’s voice grating on his nerves. “The Dark Lord rises again!”

Barty and Goyle made their way through the Azkaban towers, releasing Death Eaters and others alike. Nothing like a bit of chaos to wet his whistle.

*

Harry had the distinct feeling this was his fault. 

He had the newspaper tucked under his arm while walking with his hood up to Luna’s. It couldn’t be coincidence that nearly two days after that vile slave curse had activated, or reactivated, that there was a breakout at Azkaban. 

He wasn’t sure how it was his fault, but he knew it was, hence why he was going to Luna. 

He knocked on her door and her husband, Rolf Scamander, opened the door. He was a handsome looking fellow. He was Black with a mix of something that gave him copper hair. He had an amicable air to him and his smile was lopsided. They had spoken briefly yesterday and he had a good sense of humor. Shame he was taken. 

He focused back on the present. Harry hadn’t been expecting much since he’d given Luna all the information he had yesterday morning, yet there were papers all over the kitchen. 

“Harry,” Luna called out, her blue eyes lit up. She was resplendent with a used quill in her bird-nest hair, her shirt hiked up over her large stomach. It was painted into something that looked like a niffler pouring out riches, but far skinnier and with seven eyes. The bangles on her wrists were loud when she raised her arms to hug him. “Welcome back. I’ve rushed owl-ordered some wonderful texts. Oh the grumblies they contain. I had to mist the border of the house with spearmint.” Well, that explained the smell. The hug was warm and when she let go she left a bit of paint on him. “I’ve found a variety of things… mystic, fearful things.” 

Her eyes drifted away, away, away. 

“Have a cuppa,” Rolf said as they watched Luna gather her work. Harry took the tea happily. “We made a lot of progress. Nasty business, that.” 

Harry was glad he’d them both sign the research contract. Rolf explained the ins and outs of what they knew so far. The slave spell was permanent. It manifested in two possible ways on the victims. One was a physical mark, anything from bruise that wouldn’t fade to dismemberment. The other was a mark on their magic. 

Luna theorized that Harry had a mark on his magic too, but unlike the others it was an addition. They described it as a key that could be used to seal the slave’s magic or have it turn against them. 

It just made him think of a tumor. 

There was a way to override the spell, the  _ curse. _ It had to be overpowered by a stronger loyalty spell that was created before the Right of Conqueste. It need not have been done upon on the individual before the Right of Conqueste was enacted. On a positive note, not all the people Harry had ‘conquered’ were made slaves, it was only the Death Eaters, leading Harry and the Scamanders to think Voldemort had created it. 

Rolf was of a mind to take the list of Death Eaters straight to the authorities, but Luna had talked him down. This slave curse couldn’t be legal, and Harry was all wrapped up in it. 

There was much to be uncovered yet, and Harry really wished he hadn’t come to Britain. 

*

Rita was all aflutter, in quite a literal sense. This was far from the first time she’d put herself in danger, but with a possible war on the horizon she should be taking steps to preserve her life. 

On the other hand, she’d been so unhappy that by the time she’d become an animagus, the Wizarding War had just finished. She wouldn’t let this opportunity slip by! 

Thankfully she had learned plenty of tricks since then, chiefly how to get past even the greatest of wards. All she had to do was be firmly attached to someone who was keyed to the wards. The simpler wards were easy. No one bothered protection against bugs, unless it was a well looked over garden or greenhouse. She was unlucky enough to have been turned into a pest of a beetle. If she’d been the type of bug that helped plants flourish life would be easier. On the other hand, beetles were a lot more inconspicuous than bees and butterflies. It could be worse! She could have been a mosquito and a constant target! 

As it was, Rita had found a nice spot under the bend of Lucius Malfoy’s collar. 

She was snug as, well, a bug! 

From her slight view she saw Lucius and Narcissa wordlessly go to a refined office. Narcissa’s red painted lips were drawn. She took down her blonde hair that was usually styled elegantly in an updo. The pair sat side by side, Narcissa leaning on Lucius. He embraced her, putting a kiss on the crown of her head. 

“Nothing yet,” he reported to her. Rita had to force her wings not to flutter in excitement, waiting for more. 

“And if…” she didn’t finish. 

Rita felt Lucius nod. “All I can do is make excuses and hope they’re good enough.” He gripped Narcissa tighter. 

She started weeping silently. And kept weeping. And kept weeping with only Lucius’ soft comforts.

Rita nearly had an aneurysm. Couples that didn’t need to talk to communicate were the worst!

*

Becoming the Minister of Magic was not an easy feat by any means. Kingsley Shacklebolt had the advantage, unspoken requirement, of being a pure-blood, but had the disadvantage of having not gone to Hogwarts. He’d missed many opportunities to network. He wouldn’t change his homeschool history, but would probably not homeschool his children if he had any. 

Kingsley hadn’t planned on being minister when he joined the Aurors, but his party, the Dawns, had no one half as electable as him. Needs must, and all that. 

Next election was in a little over a year and his position felt shaky. The Dawns were now in a better position in the Wizengamot, but the recent swing of the Way to Independents was worrisome.

The Wizengamot didn’t appoint the minister, he was elected by the people, but rarely was a minister made without their party being in power. The Chief Warlock or Sorceress’ voice was well heard during an election cycle. 

Kingsley did have his Junior Undersecretary, Hermione Weasley, looking into what exactly had happened to cause such a giant shift. 

Not that Kinglsey’s mind was anywhere close to thinking about politics. No, he was most assuredly dealing with the Azkaban breakout. He had dearly hoped that nothing would come of the dark mark reappearing on Severus Snapes’ arm, but hadn’t been naive enough to believe that. 

A breakout from Azkaban, though… No one thought it was possible. He’d already had five separate meetings with Head Auror Scrimgeour. No one knew why the dementors had left the island and there were already alerts of dementor attacks. They were keeping that underwraps as it was. No need to panic the people even more. 

There was also the murder of Bartemius Crouch to deal with. He’d been found in the ministry atrium, thankfully before the morning rush. He was a mess and his body was still being examined. 

Kingsley let out a breath, trying to will away the stress headache that had been threatening him since the floo call last night. A knock on the door to his office ended that battle in defeat. 

Junior Undersecretary Weasley came in. He didn’t want to deal with her firm way of speaking right now, but refused to brush off such an honest and hard worker. She was still paying her dues and was on a fast track up the ladder; give it another 15 years and she’d be formidable. 

“Minister, I have a new report on the matter with the Wizengamot seats.” She held out a rolled piece of parchment. He was infinitely grateful that she’d learned to summarize rather than the horror-story of some of the reports she’d turned in before. It was one of the reasons she almost hadn’t gotten to her current position. 

“Thank you,” he said while taking it and moving aside his picked at lunch. He didn’t want to deal with the Wizengamot right now, but it was a part of the bigger picture. 

He leaned back in his ornate chair, that he really needed to replace, and read the report. He hummed to himself. It was rare to get any information from the goblins, but when they did it was usually reliable. The goblins didn’t care about wizarding politics, only about their gold. 

The first part of the report made no sense. The goblins considered the security of their clients’ accounts as sacred. For them to sign over all the accounts to another person without the current account holder’s permission? It was unthinkable. 

They would have to look into goblin law to see how such a thing could happen. It must be something obscure and innocuous to have not been noticed by this point. There were plenty of wizarding solicitors that had drawn up contracts with the goblins. 

The goblins must not have sent letters out to the previous holders yet. This information was brand new. The report didn’t say if total access to funds had been cut off. Either way chaos was going to erupt. 

Kingsley took a moment to let it sink in. 

He didn’t have the Aurors to deal with this right now.

He licked his pointer finger then turned to the next scroll. His brow furrowed. 

“This shouldn’t fall under their purview,” he mumbled to himself. From the corner of his eyes, Weasley nodded briskly. “The goblins,” he huffed, trying to gather his thoughts.

Money was one thing, the  _ only _ thing to some, but this was political. Not only had hundreds of accounts been taken over, but lordship rings had been merged. Kingsley glanced at his own then back to the report. 

The spell to merge houses under a single lordship was usually only done either between the marriage of two noble houses that were becoming one, or in the event of a death that left the lordship to someone who was already in command of a noble family. There was no reason the goblins should know how to do the spell, and yet they had. 

A little over half of the Sacred 28 and a mixture of other houses had been merged under one person. The problem was that they didn’t know who it was. 

Could this be a goblin attack? Were they working with the death eaters? Too many questions with not enough answers. 

He sent off a message for another meeting with Scrimgeour and thanked Weasley for her hard work. Once alone he prayed to Mother Magic. 

Kingsley could still remember the last war, and a new one was now brewing right under his nose. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm quite proud of the Bertie Botts Every Flavored Lube idea.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For ease of plot I had Grindelwald having a Wizengamon seat.
> 
> I didn't do as much editing as I would like to, so let me know if you see any errors.

* * *

Ginny’s mum had warned her to stay home after the breakout, but she was just a worrywart. 

Instead, she was spending time with her lover, Dean Thomas, at his job at the Barmy Brew. They were waiting for their other lover, Seamus Finnigan, who was, as always, running late. 

Ginny was tonging her straw subtly, just enough for Dean to notice. He was very good at not looking directly at her though. She’d get him after his shift though. 

She peered around hole in the wall pub. It was nearly 5 and the usual crowd was around. They were right off Knockturn Alley and it showed. 

Her mum would be going mental if she knew she was here, and even at 24 years old that brought Ginny great joy. Her short hair, snitch tattoo, and roughed up clothes from coming back from training with the Holyhead Harpies—none of which her mum would approve of. It made life all the sweeter. 

She killed off her drink and handed it back to Dean for him to make another. Normally they only sold ‘manly’ drinks at the Barmy Brew, whatever the hell that meant, but he always had the ingredients for her drink. 

She heard the raspy, almost sticky noise of the main door opening. She glanced to see if it was Seamus, but was instead met with her once childhood crush and currently on her celebrity free pass list.

“Dean,” she hissed under her breath, pawing at his arm and nearly making him spill. 

“Oh. _Nice.”_ Dean gestured for one of his coworkers to come over. “I need to send a patronus, mate. Cover for me?”

The other wizard was chewing on some herb and nodded with a sneer. He was good at serving drinks, but shite to look at. 

Dean gave Ginny a wink before stepping out back. 

Ginny gave herself a discreet sniff and cringed. Yeah, she was reeking. At a place like this she usually wouldn’t care, but that was before Harry Potter walked through the door. 

She observed him. Taller than she expected, a confident walk that she had expected. When he pulled down the hood of his robe she saw his black hair was to his shoulders, so at least there would be some hair pulling if she could lure him to bed. He had the scar, and a much less interesting one peeking over his shirt, tracing his collar bone. The latter was lickable, the former she couldn’t even imagine touching. 

He made it to the bar and was unconcerned with the bartender’s ugly mug. “Horntail fire whiskey, if you have it,” he ordered. That was a top shelf brew.

“On my tab,” she called out while giving him a full view of her. 

His return once over was promising before his eyes became a hair-fraction wider. “Bloody hell, another Weasley! Are you sure you lot don’t secretly run the country?” he joked, his cheeks dimpling.

Ginny groaned. “Which one of my idiot family members have you met? I’m Ginny, by the way. Lead chaser of the Holyhead Harpies.” 

“I played seeker back at Ilvermorny. I rammed the ground a few too many times to ever be considered for the pros.” Ginny laughed as they shook hands. “I’ve met three Weasleys: George, Ronald, and, I can’t remember her name, but it begins with an H.”

“Hermione,” Ginny filled in. 

“Right. Busy one, that.” The bartender handed him his drink.

“Best in her year all through Hogwarts. I don’t know how Ron snagged her.” She gave an exaggerated eye roll. “I’m guessing you met George at the joke shop?”

“Got it in one.” He looked around the pub. “I’m supposed to be meeting him here soon.” 

Ginny held in a cringe. Da had established a rule before Ginny even knew what dating was, that when one Weasley went after someone romantically, that they were off-limits to any other Weasley. If George got to Harry before Ginny could even shoot her shot—

Dean took his place back behind the bar.

“Potter, meet _one_ of my lovers, Dean Thomas. Our third should be here soon too.” She didn’t see negative judgement in his eyes, only an appraisal that could go either way. 

“Wotchor, Potter.” Dean and Harry shook hands over the bar. “How are you finding mother England?”

“Call me Harry. And Britain is definitely not what I expected.” Harry’s nose scrunched up before taking a sip of his drink. “The US hasn’t had a wizarding war in ages, but the second I port-keyed here… I think Britain and I don’t mix well.” 

“You just haven’t hung out with us yet,” Dean said while giving him a wink.

“He’s here to meet George.” They both knew what that meant.

“On a date?” Dean asked with the same bluntness that helped Ginny get together with him and Seamus. 

Harry smirked. “It sounded more like drinks before we head to his place.” 

“That’s George for you. He’s a randy bastard.” Ginny pointed at Harry, drink still in hand. “Word of advice, don’t ask for a threesome with his twin. They hate that.” 

“Yeah, that’s a bit too close to incest for my liking anyway.” Harry cringed before his expression smoothed into a slight smile. “I’m more of a one-on-one type in the bedroom anyway.” 

“To each their own, I s’ppose.” Before they could continue, George came in. On spotting Ginny he gave her a warning look, trying to mark his ‘territory’. She huffed and nodded to him in acknowledgement. No fair. 

“Heya, Harry,” George tried for a kiss, but was met with a wand in his face. It glowed with bridled magic. George took two steps back.

“Who the hell are you?” Harry was deadly calm and the air was charged. 

“I’m George—”

“It’s close, but your magic signature is different.” 

Harry must be magic sensitive. Ginny would whistle in amazement if the atmosphere wasn’t so tense. All the bar patrons were silent and watching.

“That is George,” Ginny said softly.

“You got me, Harry. Fred was pretending to be me at the shop. We know each other's taste so he talked you up in my place.” He rubbed the back of his neck as his face flushed. “Sorry about that.”

Harry’s wand dimmed before he slipped it into his wrist holster. “Right, well I don’t like deception.” He turned away from George. “Thanks for the drink, Ginny. It was nice to meet you and Dean.” He set his half-empty glass down. “Cheers.”

He started walking away. Ginny glanced at George and he looked stunned. She went after Harry, meeting him at the door. 

“Hold up, mate,” she said softly while grasping his arm. “George didn’t mean any harm. ‘Sides it was Fred who did it. Don’t punish George for that.” 

Harry glanced backwards and some of the tension in his shoulders eased. “I’m not in the mindset for this now. The tournament is tomorrow. He can owl me when it finishes.” He shrugged out of her loose grasp. “Night.” 

She watched him go before she went to hopefully cheer up her brother.

*

With a crushing feeling in his chest, Neville looked over his and his wife’s Gringotts account. All the Longbottom accounts were no longer under their control. Hannah was looking over his shoulder and her long blond hair was tickling him, not that he took notice. 

“We still have the Leaky,” she said quietly. 

“Yeah.” That was true. Hannah was the landlady of the Leaky Cauldron. It was only because their small apartment was a bonus to her job, rather than them paying for it outright, that they weren’t at risk for losing it. 

He only realized he was gripping his wand when Hannah placed her hand over his. “We’ll get through this, Nev.”

He nodded shallowly. 

An owl arrived and Hannah flitted away to get it. Neville couldn’t look away from the reports.

“Thank Merlin, my parents’ accounts haven’t been affected. They said we can stay with them if we needed to.” Hannah began massaging his shoulders. They both knew this wasn’t just about their savings and spendings accounts. The Lestranges were free. 

Neville’s first instinct was for them to bunk up tight with his Gran, but apparently they didn’t own Flatrock House anymore. She refused to leave their ancestral home until someone dragged her out. Neville knew there was no point of trying to argue with her. 

He’d already written Minerva for him to come back to Hogwarts early for his second year as the Herbology professor. He’d take Hannah with him, but that meant she’d have to give up her job at the Leaky and then they wouldn’t have anyplace over the summer. 

There was a bitter taste on his tongue. It had taken Neville ages to get Hannah to marry him. Now that they were, she was caught up in this. 

“Gran’s solicitor said if we divorce then—”

“Not on your life!” Hannah plopped down beside him on the loveseat, budging up against him and throwing her arms around him. “I’m not letting Susan have another chance at you! You’re mine, Neville Longbottom, whether you like it or not!” She gave him a big smooch on the cheek and he couldn’t help but grin. 

*

Tonks wasn’t in her Auror robes, which was pretty much par for the course. She was unrecognizable to all but her fellow Aurors that were covering the tournament. 

She was munching on Cockroach Clusters from her position overlooking the stadium. Her shape shifting abilities made her wonderful at going incognito, but that was usually negated by her clumsiness. Get her in a fight and her movements were smooth and lethal. Put her at the top of a staircase and everyone in the area better stay clear. 

Tonks picked a wing out of her teeth. Despite the prison break, the stadium was packed. Thankfully they weren’t all faffing around anymore. The first round of eliminations, that took the longest, had ended. The 32 contestants, each one representing a magical community, had been cut in half to 16. 

Cedric Diggory had done brilliantly and made it to the next round as magical Britain’s representative. He was the second youngest contestant. Harry Potter took that honor. He was representing the US. She’d heard the competition to see who would take that role was sometimes deadly. After seeing Harry go at it, she could believe that. 

Tonks also realized that Britain and France used milder spells than most of the others. France had been eliminated already. Cedric had stayed in because he was loads faster than his opponent. 

What really impressed Tonks was the amount of silent spells being cast. It was a strange thing. The crowds roared, swinging pennant flags. But participants… they were dead quiet with only the explosion of spells and the occasional scream of pain. 

Tonks spotted a good amount of illegal betting going on, but did nothing about it. She was here for protection, not petty crimes. 

The Aurors only had a spot of luck since the breakout. The Death Eaters were gone, but most of the other inmates hadn’t been able to get off the island. And whether it was good or not, a lot of them were killed by dementor. Then those blighters fled their post and were attacking good and proper people. 

The Obliviator department was on double hours, covering up when the Muggles died without any visible reason to them. Everyone was waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

No one was getting sleep. 

*

Hermione really was trying to pay attention. Not for herself, she couldn’t give a hoot about this Tournament, but Ron was on the edge of his seat. This was her anniversary gift to him. 

She fussed with the pair of omnioculars on her lap. This was such a waste of time. And Hermione was so close, _so close!_ to untangling this mystery. 

Her mind crept grinding away at a factoid that she’d known for some years, but it now had new relevance that she wasn’t grasping. 

The laws protected hereditary Wizengamot seats from being taken, even in reparations, when the holder was imprisoned. If the main branch of the family died, it was given to relatives. 

Few were aware that Grindelwald had Wizengamot seats, seats with a proxy voter. They had eventually been changed from hereditary to elected seats (which really all Wizengamot seats should be, in her opinion). 

Grindelwald had been captured by Dumbledore, defeated and imprisoned, just like so many Death Eaters had been. Yet, those Death Eaters’ seats only went dormant until their heir was old enough to take over the lordship/ladyship while Grindelwald’s had completely switched.

There was a deafening clap of thunder, but not a noise had been heard, only felt. 

Hermione gripped her wand and went on alert. There was a tense murmur through the crowded stadium, but no one was screaming. She looked to Ron for answers. 

He was glued to his omnioculars, mouth slightly open. He wasn’t the only one. Hermione seemed to be the only one who wasn’t staring at the stage. She followed their eyelines. 

The final. Harry Potter versus a witch that was sporting a Ugandan flag, Mbabazi. 

A vibration that made it hard for her to breathe. A mirage like magic lapped up against the invisible shield that kept stray spells from hitting onlookers. A miasma without malice, and they were only feeling a fraction of it through the shield. 

The Ugandan witch had no such luxury. It was clear she was struggling to raise her wand. 

And Harry was prowling forward on the long stage, wand loosely held at his side. 

Mbabazi shot off a blasting curse that cut through the almost fog like magic. The brilliant orange color of the spell dimmed as it pushed through Harry’s magic. It was met with the back of his hand and sent careening upwards. 

Mbabazi wasn’t deterred. 

Hermione could barely think with the weight of his magic pressing down on her, but Mbabazi kept sending off spells. 

A thin line of blood came from Mbabazi’s mouth despite her not having been hit once. Harry not casting a single spell. 

It was like one of those muggle horror movies. Harry just kept prowling forward, an unstoppable force beyond reason or logic. 

Mbabazi’s spell became weaker, _disbursing,_ like a drop of cream in black coffee, overwhelmed.

He stopped halfway across the stage. Like a dry, hot gust of air, the magic blew through Hermione. Children started crying under the power of it. 

Mbabazi shouted in frustration and pain, not halting her barrage of spells. 

He strode forward again, each step sending an echo of power. Mbabazi flinched with each one. By the time they were face to face, her dark skin had taken on a chalky color. Her spells were barely sparks. 

There was no pomp or flare to it, no gloating or laughter. Harry simply took her wand and ended the match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I'm writing a different HP fic. Summary: Things are far from easy for Harry Potter. He's learning about his metamorphmagus abilities, being the twin of the Boy Who Lived, and realizing his gender isn't "freak".**
> 
> **It's called[Parchment](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27305305/chapters/66714121), if you're interested. **


	7. Chapter 7

“That was supposed to be your ace, not a party trick,” Agilbert said in the locker room. 

Harry grinned as he changed out of his dueling robes. “What better time to use it than the world finals?”

“What about next time? Your opponent will know what to expect.” Harry had shown his hand. It was poor form. His duel with Ms. Mbabazi should have been close if he hadn’t let his magic flow out. 

“Bert, she is loads faster than me. You saw how she dodged Gales in the third round, and her casting is brilliant. If I didn’t land a hit in the first 10 seconds I would have been done in.” Harry looked away from Agilbert, a nervous tick he hadn’t seen in ages. “And there won’t be a next time.” 

Agilbert sighed, part of him had seen this coming. All throughout Harry’s schooling at Ilvermorny he couldn’t stay in one club for long. It only got worse when he graduated. He’d roughly had seven jobs since then, bounty hunter being the one he stuck with longest. Agilbert was actually surprised when Harry got his masteries in combat magic and healing.

“What’s caught your fancy this time?” At least he’d gotten Harry to follow through to the precipice of the dueling world. 

“Political and societal reform.” Harry fished a ring out of his bag and flipped it like a coin to Agilbert. 

He looked it over. It was covered in a rotation of little crests. There were so many of them that they couldn’t be seen all at once, some disappearing while others took their place. It hummed with a magic he couldn’t identify. 

“What is it?”

“A lordship ring, and every emblem represents a family line I now control. That doesn’t include the families that aren’t of nobility.” Harry took it back and slipped it onto his left pointer finger. 

No wonder Agilbert didn’t recognize it. The US didn’t have nobility. 

“How’d that happen?” 

“Through a combination of old law and a lot of Voldemort followers signing over their power to him.” Harry started stripping down to go to the showers. Agilbert looked away. “Dash of timing in it too.”

“Are you sure this is what you want? Politics isn’t something you can just toss aside if you grow bored with it.” Agilbert couldn’t really see Harry in politics. He lacked the tact for it, on the other hand with that amount of lordships under his command that might not be a problem. “You’re an outsider, Harry. You may have been born here, but you’re still an outsider.”

“Fair enough, but I have the accent and a brilliant origin story.” 

Agilbert glanced Harry’s way. He had a goofy smile in place. “Is that more nonsense from those muggle comic books you like so much?” 

“So you’ve been reading them?” There was a tease in his voice.

“They’re not terrible,” he admitted. “Go get cleaned up, you smell awful.”

Harry laughed and Agilbert knew wizarding Britain wasn’t ready for him.

* 

Lucius didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He had been at the tournament, more to keep face than from interest. He hadn’t bothered with anyone else in the VIP booth other than Draco. Narcissa had convinced Astoria to go to Italy to gather ideas on what type of house Astoria wanted now that she was expecting. Their little flat (which was completely unnecessary in Lucius’ opinion) would no longer do. 

Narcissa was brilliant at architecture, so doubtlessly she’d keep Astoria distracted, keep her away from the chaos that had been unleashed. It had also given her a chance to stop in France where the majority of the ancient Malfoy vaults were, vaults that weren’t connected to Gringotts, vaults they still had control over.

His Gringotts accounts now only covered essentials and gave an allowance that was a pittance compared to what a Malfoy needed to spend to not look proper. Mother Magic forbid they start looking like the Weasleys.

He knew many other pureblood families didn’t spread their investments around the world like he did. They didn’t give a damn about anything beyond the British coast. 

A part of him relished that many of his associates, (not friends, never friends), were panicking over money. He’d had to tell Crabbe and Goyle to tighten their belts. They’d completely cut off their sons. Maybe that would remind them of their duties to their bloodlines. 

“That was different,” Draco said when they made it back to the manor. 

“Indeed.” They gravitated towards Lucius’ study and nightcaps. They settled in, glasses in hand. “Trinky,” Lucius called on their youngest house elf. Bit of a charity case, that one. The pathetic creature popped into existence, lowering its nose into a bow. “Quill and parchment.” 

From his desk across the room the writing implements floated to him.

“Father?” Draco had an imperious eyebrow arched. 

“How good is your obliviating?” Lucius asked while writing himself a letter. With a wave of his wand the ink dried. He folded the parchment and placed it on his lap.

“I’ve never had to use it.” Draco was giving him a curious look. 

“Practice it then.” Lucius gestured to Trinky. 

He watched on, his heart speeding up. 

Draco was, as Lucius expected, perfect with his spellwork. 

“I will tell you something, Draco, and then you will obliviate me to the point of entering our home. Understand?” Draco glanced at Lucius’ left forearm. They’d already discussed that. “Draco?”

“Yes, of course.”

After a deep breath, Lucius told him of his plan then moments later had no memory of making it.

*

Severus refolded the newspaper. James Potter’s spawn was on the cover. He was doubly grateful that Black had taken Potter from Britain. Thank Morgana Severus never had to teach the brat. His arrogance no doubt would have tested Severus’ last nerve every class. 

The news on how he won the International Dueling Tournament enforced that thought. He’d flung the sanctity of dueling in the face of everyone. Yet the papers were treating him like the second coming of Merlin. 

To further Severus’ annoyance, Potter made it clear he was settling down in Britain. And with the Death Eaters on the loose… He groaned. Severus might have to reform the Order of the Phoenix. Doubtlessly the other members would insist Potter join in too. 

Meanwhile, Severus was stuck in the Auror Department indefinitely. At this point Severus would welcome an attack, anything to break up the monotony. He snorted at that thought. It was not like Severus was doing less than he usually did at his house. It was only now that there was a contrast that he really understood that. 

He exited his temporary room and waved down the first Auror he saw. Another former student, this one not such a dunderhead for her name to stick in his head. “I wish to speak to Scrimgeour.” 

“Yes, professor, err-sir.” The Auror was a particular brand of awkward that almost made Severus miss his teaching days. She was quick to go and just as fast to return. “He’s in a meeting right now. It should wrap up in about an hour.”

Severus didn’t let his dissatisfaction show. This would only give him more time to contemplate how best to suggest being bait in order to lure out the Death Eaters.

Before he could return to his makeshift room, another Auror appeared. They had his mail, well, one letter, which was an oddity in itself. Only Minerva wrote to him, and the occasional potioneer asking about one of his creations. 

“We already scanned it for spells and poisons,” the Auror reported. 

“Indeed.” He cast his own security spells. The wax seal was a dragon in green that reminded Severus of the killing curse. If his zoology was up to snuff, it looked to be a Hungarian horntail. No one he knew used that emblem. 

Reluctantly he opened the letter. It was an invitation, from a very unlikely individual. Harry Potter wanted to meet with him tomorrow night. 

*

Bellatrix traced her dark mark with jagged nails. She’d cleaned up, washing over two decades of grime off, but still felt filthy. Her shining light was the tattoo that marked her too pale skin. When would her Lord call for her?

“Bellatrix,” Rodolphus, her husband, called to her. Along with Rabastan, they were sharing a room in the lumbering manse that Barty had acquired for the Death Eaters that had escaped. As it stood Rabastan was in the potions lab. Other than Severus Snape, the traitor she would torture, Rabastan was the best potioneer. Barty had acquired plenty of ingredients before he broke them out.

“What?” She didn’t bother keeping her irritation in check. 

“Do not play stupid. I need an heir.” His slate grey eyes looked dead on his gaunt face. 

“Have you forgotten your dear brother Rabastan?” How she ached for her wand. The substitute that Barty had gotten her left her underpowered and wrong footed. 

Rodolphus grabbed her upper arm. Bellatrix sneered, the same venomous look she’d practiced for hours with her sisters when they were young. It made him falter, but only for a moment.

“I was promised 3 children by you.” His nails dug into her flesh. “It was in the marriage contract you signed. Rabastan has started brewing a fertility potion.” His grip loosened, but only fractionally. “What good is shaping the world if we have nothing to leave behind?” 

Bellatrix yanked her arm free. She could already feel her strength waning, not used to more activity than the occasional shouting. 

Rodolphus had a point about leaving behind a legacy, but there was only one person worthy of mixing with her pureblood, the Dark Lord. 

*

Theodore Knott, yes, with a  _ K,  _ was a very happy bloke indeed. Life had definitely not been easy. An abusive father, disownment at 16, and other things he’d rather gloss over. But now the not Nott was on top.

After Hogwarts he’d gotten an apprenticeship through his schoolmate connections in wandmaking, married for love, and was making wand cores for Olivanders. He had just come back to Britain from a fully funded world tour to find new wandcore types. 

Nadia, his lovely, too good for him, wife, greeted him with a kiss. She was three years his junior and the reason he was disowned. A Hufflepuff and Muggleborn. Nadia was a righteous fury that Theo happily stoked the flame of. 

Now Theo was home, and had the pitter-pattering of little feet to meet him. No, Nadia and him hadn’t embarked on parenthood yet, (nor did they get one of those stupid krups couples used for ‘practice’). No, the Nott family had fallen on hard times. His father had controlled Julius, his oldest son and Theo’s brother, with a noose of spies monitoring his every move and with the threat of violence that was far from idle. Now Julius had a chance for freedom. Nott Senior’s funds had dried up for a reason. He couldn’t monitor Julius.

Likewise, Julius’ heir fund was sharply cut. He had to, Merlin forbid, find a job. No more money for lavish parties, or, more importantly, for nannies. 

Theo had no love for Julius. He had continued their father’s abuse, but thankfully it hadn’t rained down on his son… yet. Julius’ wife had run off to Austria with her lover when the money stopped coming.

Now not a Nott nor the nit that tied the knot with Heir Nott would raise the newest Nott, Ned Nott. 

Ned skidded to a halt, his open, three-year-old expression showing disappointment. 

“Hello, Ned,” Theo said carefully, still not sure how to deal with children. Ned ducked behind Nadia’s skirt, cornflower blue eyes that matched his own peeking out. “I brought you a gift.” 

Theo kneeled down to his level. From his robe he pulled out a sugar quill, a candy Theo had loved at that age. 

Ned happily snatched it out of his proffered hand and ran off.

“Sugar? Really?” Nadia said sarcastically. 

“Children like sugar. How else am I supposed to bond with him?” Theo asked while putting down his luggage. He’d take care of it later. 

“Spend time with him. Read him his favorite story. It’s only day two.” Nadia looped her arm with his.

Theo hummed in thought. “And the paperwork?”

Nadia got a little closer to him on their familiar walk to the kitchen. “It is going well, but it would be better if we had an actual home.” 

Theo glanced at their flat, the one he’d gotten when Theo was pinching every penny and Nadia was still in Hogwarts. It was a far cry from the mansion he’d grown up in, not that that bothered him. 

“You have someplace in mind, Honeybadger?” She had that brilliant gleam in her brown eyes, the one that spelled trouble. 

“Oh yes, one older than Nott Grove,” the mansion he’d grown up in, “and a fixer-upper.” She bumped his hip with her own. “I thought you’d be home earlier and get a bit of time to rest, before our meeting with the realtor. Go get changed. I’ve already scoped it out, but you obviously have a say in it.” She winked at him. 

Theo was used to her taking charge. It was just one more thing he loved about her. He also knew that she was far more opinionated than him in most things. And after he got out from under his father’s thumb he was still trying to figure out what he liked. Without Nadia, he’d be overwhelmed. 

By the time Theo was ready Nadia had had bundled Ned in his summer cloak. His little round face was sticky from the sugar quill he was gnawing on. Nadia side-along apparated them. 

The notice-me-not wards were smooth, old, but sturdy as they apparated in front of the building. 

Nadia stomped her left foot twice. “Good ley-lines. Strong foundation.” 

A realtor with a smile worthy of Witch Weekly came out of the building. “Mrs. Knott, are you trying to steal my job?” he asked jokingly. “Ned, you’ve grown!” His smile turned to Theo. “Mr. Knott, I’m Janus Penhatch. Let me introduce you to 12 Grimmauld Place.” 

Theo idly listened to his pitch as they were led around. He was barely listening, more caught up in watching Nadia. When they started getting into the minutia of the deal, he left Nadia to it. She had a job in finance and could talk the talk. 

Theo hummed to himself while trying to figure out which pureblood family had to pony up the house, probably because of the mysterious curse that had the purebloods by their pursestrings. That question was answered when he saw a family tapestry, the Blacks. A Sacred 28, like the Notts, but  _ purer—  _ Oh, it was perfect. They would install one of the  _ telo-visions _ Nadia missed, those wired electric bolts that made muggle things work. 

Then a nice Slytherin housewarming party, let them marvel at the muggle oddities and tell their families who would tell his father. 

“Don’t mind that, mate,” a voice from behind him said. “I just haven’t gotten a chance to take that down.”

Theo turned to be faced with a stranger. “Just seeing how tangled the Black family was.”

The stranger laughed. He was levitating a kaleidoscope of luggage idly. “It’s more than one twisted knot. Don’t bother with it. You’ll get a headache.” He switched his wand to his other. “Harry Potter.” 

Ah, a celebrity. 

They shook hands. “Theodore Knott, prospective homeowner.” He smiled. “How mad do you think the Blacks would be knowing a muggleborn wants to move in?”

Harry snorted. “Now that might just get you a discount.” He flicked his wand and the luggage floated away. “I don’t mind either way. If a muggleborn bought this place you might just hear my godfather laughing from beyond the veil.” He tilted his chin slightly. “I recognize the name Nott, though.” 

Theo held his hands up in faux-surrender. “You got me. I was disowned. I added a K to my last name and called it a day. My wife is a muggleborn though.” 

Harry nodded. “Fair enough. How about a cuppa?” 

“Do you even know how to make tea? You might sound like a Brit, but I can hear American there too.” Theo teased.

“It’s either that or the sludge I call coffee. Your pick.”

They bantered a bit while Harry made (barely) passable tea. After that their conversation flowed easy enough. Harry tried to talk to him about politics, but Theo despised politics. He did learn something disturbing though. He’d grown up being told being a pureblood meant being stronger, but muggle medicine was showing inbreeding had consequences. Harry recommended he see a muggle doctor for some tests. Theo whole-heartedly agreed. 

After Nadia and the realtor found them Harry really did give them that discount with the promise they’d meet for butterbeer at some point.

*

A neatly folded piece of paper zipped through the door and onto Kingsley’s desk. The tops of the folded wings were red, marking it as urgent. 

Junior Undersecretary Weasley was half a step behind it. Kingsley began opening the message before she could speak. Despite looking at the parchment he could see Weasley was practically vibrating with energy. 

As he read on, a sinking feeling weighed down on his shoulders. 

All those Wizengamot seats that had gone independent overnight were now declared, and not for his party. 

“Harry Potter,” Kingsley said under his breath. Single-handedly Harry Potter, an  _ outsider, _ had made a new party, a new majority in the Wizengamot: the Horntails. “Bloody hell.”

“I might have an in with him,” Weasley blurted out. He looked up at her with curiosity. “He came to me last week to do a research project for him. I was busy, but I steered him to a friend, Luna Scamander.”

“Luna Lovegood?” He only knew her name because Xenophilius had invited him to the wedding. He wasn’t active in politics, but his proxy always voted with the Jackalopes, which were famously anti-statue of secrecy. He wouldn’t be surprised if his daughter followed in his footsteps. 

Weasley looked uncomfortable. “She’s terrible at keeping secrets…” Her posture straightened out. “No, I won’t take advantage of her. I have his floo address. I should question him directly.” 

Kingsley tapped the parchment on his desk. Weasley was brilliant, but was still honing her diplomacy. “Take Diggory with you.” They had a rapport from the dueling tournament. He also had a dab hand at putting others at ease. 

Kingsley could only lean back in his chair and hope this mess could be sorted out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Feel free to check out my tons of other fanfics!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you see any errors. Edited two other things to post today and I ran out of steam by the time I got here.

* * *

“Are you sure the Weasleys don’t secretly run Britain?” Harry Potter asked, eliciting a laugh from Bill as they walked up to a manor he’d never seen before, despite it being just off Diagon Alley. Normally Bill was very attuned to magic, but he hadn’t felt a hint of its presence until Harry brought him through the perimeter wards. They were fascinating and he'd love to study them.

As it was, he was there in official capacity as a Gringotts curse breaker.

“We’re a hardy bunch,” Bill admitted, not for the first time. He leaned in conspiratorially. “Between the two of us, we’ve got a finger in a lot of pies. It’s only a matter of time before we’re everywhere.” Bill winked. 

“That, I don’t feel hard to believe. How many siblings do you have?”

“Five brothers and one sister. Mum was adamant on having a daughter, and it shows.” Merlin when he’d been in school it felt like every summer he came back, there was a new baby he had to help look after. 

“Ginny, right? She bought me a drink.” He had an odd look on his face, and Bill didn’t want to contemplate why. “I think I have only two others to meet.”

Bill smirked. “You might as well come to our famous Weasley dinner bash tomorrow. If you’re interested, it begins at six in the evening. The Floo address is the Burrow. Some home cooking should be good for you.”

Harry gave him a fleeting smile. “I’m tired of cooking for myself. My house elf from the US won’t be here for a while, and I’ll probably need more than one for this place.”

“Agreed.” He stared up at Avalon Heights. It was made of seamless marble. Etched in runes lit up randomly with an ethereal white. There was a menagerie of gargoyles, most of which had jewels for eyes. Bill could feel them glaring down at him.

The grounds were sprawling despite being wedged between two buildings with only a small circle of weather worn mushrooms between it. It was expansion magic far beyond Bill’s capabilities. 

Bill could recognize a fair amount of plants, some of which had no business growing in this sort of climate. The area was strangely free of gnomes though, but he did see tracks of, of all things, sphinx. He’d have to bring in a whole other team just for that.

“I already took down a Nundu.” Bill took a moment to process that. One did not simply take “down” a Nundu. It took upwards of a hundred wizards to have a fighting chance, even then half of them were likely to end up dead. He had heard about how the dueling tournament had gone, but was still in disbelief. “There’s also a dragon’s den, but it looks abandoned. I have scheduled for later tonight some warders to make a safe passage from the street to Avalon and to make sure the wards on the perimeter won’t break.”

“Smart idea,” Bill said, sounding almost breathless. This looked like it would be an even greater undertaking than he first expected.

As it stood, he was just there for a consultation. He was documenting curses that needed to be addressed, how much taking them down would cost, and whose team was best up to the task of breaking them. According to Harry the curses didn’t affect him, but he’d prefer the place safe for visitors. 

It took them the better part of the day to explore the four above ground floors and the two below. He was grateful for Harry’s presence and quick wandwork. Gringotts would either make a fortune off Avalon Heights, or lose all their curse breakers to it.

*

Millicent Bulstrode worked for the Ministry in the Office for House-Elf Relocation. It was by no means a glamorous position. She didn’t care though. It was just her day job. She spent all her freetime in the Felix Grotto, which was a high end and highly illegal gambling casino. Millicent was, to put it lightly, a card-shark. 

So when Harry Potter walked through the door to her department of one, she was quick to put away her notes on possible tells of her usual competitors. 

“Paperwork,” Millicent asked in a dull tone. She had perfected it in her Slytherin days. Nothing set Draco off quite like expressing disinterest at him. 

Potter pulled it out from his robes. On his ring was a familiar symbol caught her eye. Her former family crest. (The family that had abandoned her when she refused to comply with a betrothal contract that had been made before she’d even been a glimmer in her father’s eye.) She’d have to look into why he was wearing it, if only to laugh at whatever misfortune her former family was in. 

She looked over the paperwork. “Six housekeeping elves and only one cook?” He must have a big place. Most mansions only needed four housekeepers. Added onto that the six elves he was requesting for grounds keeping...

“I have a house elf coming in from the US. The registrations at the bottom of the pile.” 

Millicent flipped to it and gave it a quick skim. It looked to be in order. She went back to the front page. She recognized the street, an offshoot of Diagon Alley, but couldn’t remember if she’d even seen it. Probably not considering the area looked to be at least twice as long as the actual street. That meant powerful magic was at work. 

She set down the paperwork on her desk before going to a file cabinet to pull out house elf profiles. 

The way they were relocated was one of two ways: either they’d been freed or a house elf put itself in the registry so that the ones they worked with could have a child in the already fully staffed house they belonged to. 

“Are you capable of handling house elves that have been dismissed from their home? They’re the ones we try to adopt out first since being unbound is not healthy for them.” No one ever wanted those elves, for a good reason. 

Also, they had more paperwork, which Millicent wasn’t a fan of.

Harry grinned crookedly. He was a fine specimen. “Depends why they were freed.” 

She handed him the files. “Have at it, then.” Perhaps she wasn’t the most polite government worker. There was a reason she’d been put into one of the least visited offices. 

Potter took a seat. Millicent watched him a moment before jotting down a note and sending it on its way. Draco was rarely at the Ministry, but if he was, the note would find him. If he wasn’t, well she’d just mock him for wanting to meet the ‘savior’ of the wizarding world (more than she already had). 

A good half an hour passed without word of Draco as Potter went through the files. There weren’t many of them, but he seemed to be thorough. 

When he handed them back, Millicent let out a laugh that resembled a bark. He’d chosen that crazy Dobby elf. “Looks like you’re a gambling man,” she commented.

Harry shrugged. “I’ve got to get my kicks somewhere.”

Millicent gave him a measured look before pulling a small plaque from the inner pocket of her sleeve. “If you’re not all talk, contact my friend. She hosts a card game almost every week.”

“Sounds like a good time.” He took the gilded card between his pointer finger and middle finger, and with a flick it was gone. 

Millicent put on her bland paper-pusher look and straightened the files he’d given her. “Thank you, Mr. Potter. You will be receiving a letter from me in 2-3 business days on whether you are eligible to acquire these house elves.”

They had a polite farewell.

Ten minutes later Draco walked into her office, cheeks lightly blushed with exertion. Millicent laughed at his perturbed expression.

*

Pomona Sprout was a very happy witch, indeed. After her time teaching at Hogwarts she’d traveled the wizarding world to collect plants for her dream garden. It had come together beautifully after a labor of love, but she was well practiced in upkeep and it hardly took up a good chunk of her time. That is why she had taken on a new profession.

What many people didn’t know about her was that she was quite good at defense against the darks. She had to be, considering how often she had to man the post when another DADA professor dropped out before the school year had ended. 

What may not be half as surprising was her independent studies in magizoology. 

It was how she ended up being an ace at tackling overgrown magical ecosystems. 

Along with her trusty wand and bag of potions, Hagred was accompanying her. He no longer taught Care of Magical Creatures in Hogwarts (due to McGonagall insisting he take all his NEWTs and at least getting an apprenticeship in magizoology. Pomona thought he was already doing a spectacular job as a professor, but the headmistress had the final say in the matter.)

She breathed in the wet, morning air. “You needn’t accompany us, Mr. Potter,” Pomona reassured him. “We have this well in hand.” 

He gave her a kind smile that looked just like his father’s, at least when her former student wasn’t being a little shite. Minerva might have let James Potter get away with anything, but Pomona didn’t allow it. 

“Ma’am I already had to take down a Nundu. I’m not paying for a contingent of wizards for protection when I can do the job well enough myself.” His wand was at the ready, but Pomona was incredulous. Harry had grown up with Sirius, who was a teller of tall tales if she’d ever met one before. “Until I get proper groundskeeping house elves, you're stuck with me.”

“N’then wrong with that,” Hagrid said. His beady eyes had been gleaming since the moment Pomona told him about the job. She’d had to caution him not to overwhelm Harry with questions. He was truly a gregarious man. 

Besides, Pomona had a plethora of her own questions she wanted to ask, but was far too polite to do so. 

Instead, they made small talk as Pomona toured the grounds to see what she’d need to put it in order. She was pleased to see such diversity and, even more interestingly, strong weather spells. What even made it more amazing was, according to Harry, the grounds had been untouched in nearly 1,100 years. Weather spells usually lasted a decade at most. Wonders upon wonders. 

As they progressed through the day, Pomona was pleasantly surprised by the diversity in more than just plants. Harry had been wise to go along with them. There were a great number of magical beasts that even Hagrid hadn’t been able to deal with. From a demiguise with sticky fingers to a sphinx that Harry silenced before it could weave a riddle. The great beast was following them now, but Harry assured them that as long as they didn’t look at any puzzle it drew out, it was harmless. (More than once she had to pull Hagrid away from staring at the beast in wonder.)

It was a little after lunchtime and Pomona was feeling her age. Her meaty thighs were sore and she’d worked up quite the sweat in the summer sun. Thankfully she’d packed them lunch so they didn’t have to apparate anywhere. (Weather spells were notorious for having odd effects on apparition.)

As they sipped cold pumpkin juice, Harry eyed a niffler that had been inching towards them. It scurried off with a squeak. She handed out fish tacos for her and Harry, while Hagrid had his own sandwich that was as large as a tire. 

Pomona giggled when Harry pulled a vial of hot sauce from his robes and offered her some. She remembered James eating one of the peppers from her greenhouse along with his friends. He was the only one who hadn’t run towards the spigot for water./the water spell ()He was also the only one who didn’t go to detention for ingesting a dangerous plant, since he didn’t show any signs of it beyond drenching sweat in the depths of December. 

“I’m surprised, Mr. Potter. With your recent win I wouldn’t expect you to have a mastery in healing,” Pomona remarked.

Harry finished off his last bite before speaking. “It sort of just happened. One of my colleges that I was a bounty hunter with had been a mediwizard. He saw that I already had a lot of healing knowledge and after one of our longer hunts we spent half a year together with me as his apprentice. It came in handy when Sirius became sick, but it wasn't enough.” 

Pomona could still picture Sirius, young and full of life…

She changed the subject. “What are you going to do now that you’re moving here? I can’t see any careers being quite as exciting as bounty hunter here, other than perhaps hit wizard.”

“I’m stepping into a new cutthroat position. Just you wait, Ms. Sprout.” He gave her a cheeky wink. 

“Oh Mr. Potter.” She giggled despite her better judgement. His smile only widened in return. 

When Pomona was packing up the last of their meal, Harry spoke again. “You taught at Hogwarts with Severus Snape, right?”

Pomona stopped herself from narrowing her lips into a hard line. There was only one reason Harry would know that name, Sirius Black. Doubtlessly Sirius hadn’t been kind with his words. 

“That is correct.” She kept her words reserved. 

Harry brushed some crumbs off his light robe. “Is he a good man?”

That was… a complicated question. She would not open a door for Harry to perpetuate Sirius’ bullying though. “He is one of the best.” 

*

Severus had no interest in being accompanied by Aurors to eat, let alone meet the  _ Potter spawn. _ Severus wouldn’t be surprised if this was some machination by Albus from beyond the grave. 

At least when Potter spit out whatever it was they were meeting for he’d have an excuse to leave. Minister Shacklebolt had come to Severus himself to ask him to direct Potter to talk to one of his people. Severus had his own worries about the political climate and the fact that Potter was somehow involved only deepened that feeling. 

Toad Road wasn’t a particularly high end restaurant or even that good, but it was clean and the food was tolerable. Surprisingly, Potter was already seated, a firewhiskey in hand. Drinking, poor form for a first meeting. 

Horrendous posture, legs sprawled out like an  _ American,  _ and robes stained. Disgusting. 

Severus did nothing to hold back his dour expression. He was met with a reserved look. 

“What do you want?” Severus asked without sitting down. He kept his fingers from curling into claws on the seatback he was clutching. 

Potter leaned back in his seat. The  _ arrogance  _ in his posture almost made Severus leave, if not for Shacklebolt’s dealings. 

“To thank you.” That caught Severus off guard, but he didn’t let it show. “You taught me what a bully is.” 

Severus sneered. “Don’t believe every tale Black tells you.” 

Potter flinched, but it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as Severus had hoped. “Poor wording on my part, mate—I mean, Mr. Snape. Please sit down. I promise this is a good thing.”

Severus pulled his ire in, remembering he was mainly here as a favor to Shacklebolt. His people had apparently been unable to get in contact with Potter. 

He sat down and gave a firm nod when the waiter appeared and offered him tea. “My time is not to be wasted, Mr. Potter.” 

“Long story short: When Sirius saw me emulating him with other kids it somehow got through his thick head that bullying you hadn’t been right.” 

Severus was unimpressed. 

Potter’s green eyes—No, he wouldn’t think of who else had those eyes—stared at him for a beat. 

“Right. Well, he said he was going to send you an apology letter, but I knew he wouldn’t. When he was dying—”

Severus waved dismissively. “Save your deathbed confessions for someone who cares.”

“Fair enough.” Potter’s response surprised him, not that he showed it. “Sirius was a wanker to you. I can’t change that. But there’s something else of a much more serious nature we need to discuss.”

Severus narrowed his eyes, trying to read if he was purposefully making a pun, the  _ brat. _

Potter took a deep breath in and seemed to be deliberating his words. 

“Spit it out.” Severus kept the venom from his voice, trying to reel in his emotions by occluding. 

Harry glanced around before waving a privacy spell with his wand. “Have you heard of the Right of Conqueste?” 

“Speak plainly.” Severus had come upon the term before, but didn’t know where he’d read it. 

“The blood you shed when Voldemort gave you the dark mark was a slave contract.” 

Severus blinked, trying to process his words. “Pardon?”

Potter ran his hand through his hair, fly-aways coming free from the loose tie at the back of his neck. 

He inelegantly pointed at Severus’ left arm. “Slave mark,” then he pointed at himself, “defeater of Voldemort thus the possessor of all the things, the  _ people _ he owned.” 

Severus stood abruptly, knocking his chair backwards and to the ground. “I will not be a party to this nonsense!” Severus made a turn and apparated away before he could use the unforgivable that was at the tip of his tongue.


End file.
